


The Longest Night

by DreamerInSilico



Series: The Little Death [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Dominance, Established Relationship, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamerInSilico/pseuds/DreamerInSilico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured and stranded from a contract gone awry, Riva must survive long enough for help to arrive. Lucien doesn't intend to let her give up the fight.<br/>Protective!Lucien, a bit of dominance, and a bit of dream-porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted (minor edits made) in the Skyrim kink meme.
> 
> Follows The Little Death. See my tumblr (URL on my profile) for shorts describing the events immediately preceding this fic, and some of the unexpected fallout afterward. 
> 
> Content warning: mild BDSM (consensual)

 

 _White._   The entire world was white, save for the spilled-ink coat of the horse beneath her, and Riva supposed she was grateful for the breath-freezing chill of the snowstorm, if only because it dulled the pain somewhat.  Hypothermia would claim her before much longer, though, if she failed to reach the Sanctuary, and she could already feel the tell-tale detachment beginning. 

 

Good.  The cold felt good.  It stole its way into the steel arrowhead lodged in her hip and seemed to suck the heat from the bone itself, but she knew this was wrong, so wrong… the pain should be blinding, as every jostling step that Shadowmere took caused the injured joint to move. 

 

And then the endless white transitioned to darkness as her eyelids slid closed of their own accord, and the pain _was_ blinding as she tumbled to the snow-cloaked ground.  (The voice screaming to the swirling white sky must have been hers, but she did not feel the words on her own lips.)

 

This was it, then.  She wouldn’t be getting back astride – the shard of metal had shifted, grated deeper into her flesh and now the slightest movement set fresh blood seeping from the wound, steaming as it fell against the pristine snow.  Shadowmere had doubled back to paw at the ground and snort beside her, but Riva could no more climb onto the demon-horse’s back than she could pluck the moons from the night sky.  She was going to die here, another nameless corpse in a sea of snow, fit only to feed the scavengers at the first spring thaw.  Strange, that the realization brought no sense of fear, or of anger – there was only relief, that now she could stop fighting to hold on.  She had done all she could. 

 

“ _Riva_.”  The deep baritone sounded nearby, barely heard above the howling of the wind, but she could see the patch of luminosity that was Lucien, washed-out and all but invisible in the storm.  He hadn’t been with her on that night’s ill-starred mission.  When had she - ? 

 

He spoke again, but his words were whisked away on the ice-strewn wind along with Shadowmere’s presence as the horse took to a gallop once more.  Then he knelt, and somehow Riva felt a faint, cool pressure against her brow – that chill not one of winter ice, but of deep shadow and fresh-whetted steel. 

 

How she knew the difference, she would never quite figure out. 

 

“Shadowmere flies, dear sister.”  The voice cut through the haze in her mind, and Riva shook her head weakly, not wanting to think, to _care_.  If she cared, it hurt more…. And if she stopped, maybe she could fall asleep…  sleep would be so very nice…  but Lucien kept talking, and a part of her cursed him for always being able to command her attention, even as the dregs of her self-preservation grasped at the sound of his voice like a life-line.  “I believe we are near the Sanctuary, and she will bring aid.  You need only hold on until she returns.” 

 

Riva didn’t want to _hold on_.  She had _held on_ to Shadowmere’s back, and look where that left her.  “Just… want to sleep…” she protested faintly.  Maybe he would take pity on her and let her rest, just for a while. 

 

“ _Listen_ to me, Riva.”  It was a command, one that seemed to bypass her will to open her eyes directly and drag them sluggishly toward him, though ice had caked upon her lashes and felt like lead.  “This is not your time.  You must stay here.” 

 

“Death didn’t seem to keep you away from your work.”  How could he even hear her?  She couldn’t hear herself over the wind, the wind was so loud… 

 

He stayed silent, and she knew by the look on the faint lines of his face that he would not dignify that protest with a response.  It hadn’t been fair, she knew, but oh, she wanted to sleep, and he wouldn’t let her… 

 

The ghostly fingers slipped under her hood and into her hair, lifting her head slightly off the snow.  Detail bled from Lucien’s form, as if he had to concentrate all the substance he had into fingers and palm to move her just that little bit.  “Sister,” he said, more quietly, “there is a hummock just over there that will break the wind.  I need you to get yourself to it.” 

 

“I can’t see – “  
  


“I will guide you.” 

 

…

 

The hand tilted her head slightly to the left, and Riva weakly pushed at the ground with her arms.  Pain lanced through her hip at the strain, and she cried out, gasping, “I don’t think I can, Lucien…”

 

“You must.  Push again.”  His voice held the silken tone that never failed to compel her attention, even through thought-scattering pain or animal fear.  Riva pushed, this time gritting her teeth against the cresting agony, and gaining a meager few feet of ground.  The barely-there brush of a thumb across her cheek was a coveted gesture she had endured much to earn before, on happier, more frivolous nights.  She dug numb fingertips into the packed snow to force herself backward again, and again in the direction of Lucien’s ephemeral touch, until the wind’s screaming seemed just a bit less loud, less overpowering in her sensitive ears. 

 

The _wrongness_ of the grinding pain from the arrowhead as it chewed into bone made Riva’s stomach twist and churn, but all she could do in response was to heave weakly, feeling only sour bile at the back of her throat.  “Here… now… “ she gasped.  “Not much warmer.  Don’t think I will make…” 

 

“ _Stop_.”  The light pressure of the ghostly hand shifted to grip at her jaw, and she looked up in surprise to see an intensity bordering on anger in his silvery gaze.  “The Void holds many gifts for ones such as we, but do not rush to meet it!” 

 

She paused, suddenly aware of her teeth chattering loudly inside her skull just as keenly as she was the lifeblood still sluggishly seeping from her veins.  “Lucien, I…” 

 

As if sensing and approving of the shift her thoughts had made, Lucien nodded.  The cool, slippery sensation of his touch on her face faded almost to nothing as the rest of his form regained a measure of definition and drew closer to her.  She could still feel the wind through him, but the worst of its bite was removed as he crouched over her supine body. 

 

There was a brush like a whisper over her drooping eyelids that might have been a figment of her imagination, save for the light, tell-tale tang of death and magic that marked Lucien’s presence.  The sensation suddenly seemed to cling all over her, and she heard his voice as a glimmer of thought more than crude waves of sound in winter air. 

 

 _Follow me, dear sister_. 

 

…

 

The fire was cold in the hearth as Riva sat up, surrounded by a tangle of silk sheets, but she was naked and a residual heat clung to the air around her, smelling of clean sweat and other things that made a part of her twitch awake with interest.  She wasn’t sure where she was, but it scarcely seemed to matter – Lucien’s uniquely spicy scent lingered among the sheets, as if he had only just gotten up from beside her. 

 

She moved to rise, more stiffly than she would have expected, feeling a distant, but deep ache at her side, down her hip and leg.  It seemed to throb as she gingerly put a foot down on the flagstones, but her awareness of the pain faded rapidly at the sound of another soft footfall in the hall just beyond the door. 

 

A draft teased goosebumps from her skin as she turned the door handle and found him there, leaning indolently against a wall, swathed in a Speaker’s robe of the old style and looking more casually dangerous than anyone or anything else that Riva had ever seen.  He smiled as she stepped over the threshold, that subtle curve of full lips that always, _always_ spelled trouble, and she shivered in earnest. 

 

“I see you’ve arisen.”

 

No matter how many times she encountered him in the flesh – or rather, a spectacularly believable facsimile of the same – his presence never failed to strike a chord of excited trepidation within her.  He wore the edged mystique of a master assassin like a second skin, somehow able to play her mind like a skald’s harp despite the trust and twisted affection that had grown between them. 

 

“I missed you,” she said, and she didn’t even know why she said it, but she _felt_ it, that hungry longing that settled into her bones and made her willing to do anything to win his touch. 

 

He was being generous, today. 

 

Quick as a killing blow, he was in front of her, catching her wrists in one strong hand and pinning them above her head as the leather-clad fingers of his other hand wreaked havoc with her senses.  His fingertips ran over her eyelids and across her sharp cheekbones, along her jawline and down her throat with an insistent pressure that made her gasp.  Then the gloved hand traveled farther down, drifting possessively over her bare breast, its buttery texture teasing her nipple so that she tried to arch into his touch, but he pulled back with a grin. 

 

Feather-light, the hand resumed its attentions, stroking harrowed nerves to ravenous flame as it continued down the taut skin of her belly, toward that point of heat that flared between her thighs. 

 

“Why would you miss me, dear one?” he taunted.  “I am here.” 

 

“You weren’t,” she complained.  “And if that grin is any indication, you’re about to not be, again.” 

 

“Ahh,” he returned, a hint of a chuckle in his voice, as he dragged leather-blunted nails up the inside of her thigh to suddenly grip her at the root of her desire.  Riva froze, wanting to push down against his fingers but not quite daring to do so.  Lucien leaned forward until his tongue flickered just above her mouth as he spoke, his breath hot against her tongue.  “On that account, you are quite correct.” 

 

And then he was a shadow flickering around the bend just ahead, his touch withdrawn all at once to leave her bereft. 

 

…

 

Riva shook her head, fond exasperation at war with the insistent need to follow him.  He would know, of course, that she could do nothing else.  For a moment, she toyed with the idea of staying put, going back into the sumptuous bedroom and attempting to wait him out, but some instinct beyond desire made her shy away from the thought of idleness and she took off after Lucien at a trot.  She would play his game, whatever it might be, this time. 

 

The corridors had the damp, metallic scent particular to granite-walled tunnels, and though she was well-accustomed to subterranean environments, she could nevertheless sense the closeness, the weight of earth around her.   Cool air currents danced across her body, telling of hidden cracks in the stone and the frozen patience of winter as it seeped through the earth to snuff the flames of the audacious creatures who thought to elude it.  Rippling through the silence, she heard the faint fluttering of… a cloak? 

 

No, the sound was too constant to ever be something that Lucien would make.  What, then? 

 

Grey light emanated from a room up ahead, and she warily rounded the corner and looked inside.  The light was coming from a ragged hole in the wall, shining through a mass of curtains that moved in the suddenly scentless breeze.  Some of the curtain seemed to be more of a veil, the shifting layers always just about to part to reveal whatever was producing the light… Riva tracked them with sharp eyes, but could not catch so much as a glimpse. 

 

The air was less cold, less damp, less… everything, really, but it seemed to urge her forward toward the curtains, and Riva slowly padded forward to try to get a better look.  _What could possibly be glowing like that –_

 

“Riva.” 

 

Her name reached her ears, clothed in that familiar baritone and carrying the subtle roughness that she knew as desire, and the veiled border abruptly lost its pull.  She pivoted smoothly, but he was not, as she had expected, just behind her. 

 

 _Damnit, Lucien_ …

 

She stepped back through the door into the corridor, and almost jumped out of her skin when she realized he was _just_ around the edge of the doorframe, and now no more than a pace from her side.  She had a half-second to register his predator’s smile before ungentle hands grabbed and spun her, slamming her face-first toward the wall that now occupied the place the door had been.  Reflexes cat-quick, she caught herself with her hands, but he pressed in against her back and held her close, one hand gripping her hip as the other did something with his clothing behind her. 

 

Then his foot kicked her legs apart, and a moment later she felt his cock, hot against her folds.  He did not wait, did not pause to tease, instead slamming into her as soon as he found her entrance, gloved fingers digging bruises into her waist for purchase.  The sudden fullness was nearly painful, though mitigated by her arousal.  Braced against the wall, she could feel hard leather at her back – he must have been wearing chest armor under the robes – and his body heat seeping through it as it ground against her skin.  She cried out, overwhelmed, when his other hand took rough possession of her breast. 

 

It was short and savage, with surprise stealing Riva’s breath as much as the physical onslaught did.  Lucien was a master of nuance and precision, not prone to base brutality…

 

… And yet, her body was responding with jubilation, the urgency of his thrusts firing a sympathetic, desperate need within her that spiraled upward at a dizzying pace.  The intensity was a cresting wave; it would break, _must_ break soon…

 

But he reached his peak ahead of her, pulling back for one long, deep stroke, and she moaned with him as she felt him spend.  The swift jerk as he left her nearly pushed her over the edge, and she collapsed to her knees, cursing the very precision she’d thought he had left behind, that left her minutely, painfully shy of fulfillment. 

 

…

 

When she regained her feet again, he was already gone.  Stumbling, near-incandescent with balked desire, she headed down the yet-unexplored passageway.  Her vision was blurred and greying at the edges, like that veiled border she had seen was closing in all around her. 

 

And she was tired.  How could she be so tired, when she wanted Lucien so badly…?  _Maybe I should sit…_

 

No, she would follow.  He couldn’t be far ahead. 

 

Surely enough, he stood facing her at the far end of the next corridor, dagger drawn as if expecting danger… or her.  She paused when he began to stalk forward, eyes never leaving hers, his body all deadly, lyrical grace as he advanced, the sight of him clearing the cobwebs around her eyes.  A half-pace in front of her, he stopped. 

 

“Where are we?” Riva whispered, not knowing why it was important, but needing to ask all the same. 

 

Lucien answered with a cryptic smile and the light trace of his free, gloved hand from her face down the contours of her body. “We are in waiting.” He made it sound like a place, but she had nearly had enough of his evasion. 

 

“ _I_ am waiting, perhaps.  You certainly didn’t.” 

 

The growl in his laugh was both a sign of true amusement, and a threat – the latter almost as much as the bared blade that rose in his hand.  The keen edge dragged with lazy precision across her collarbone, and down, to circle the fullness of one breast and prick ever so slightly at her hardened nipple. 

 

“Don’t move,” he warned, his mercurial grin her only other warning as gloved fingers slipped between her thighs and stroked with agonizingly perfect friction against the sensitive flesh.  She caught herself from the violent shudder a moment too late to avoid a sharp jab of pain from the dagger against her breast, and she bit her lip, tasting blood. 

 

Would he make her come like this?  The prospect was terrifying, but sweet, oh so very sweet…

 

But the fingers disappeared as quickly as they had intruded, as did the chilled kiss of metal, and she let out a breath in a long, frustrated hiss.  It was patently unfair – if often convenient for both of them – that in a dreamscape of his making, he could simply will things to be as he wished.  Including placing him out of her reach, again.  She could chase all she liked – she would not catch him until he allowed it. 

 

To keep him in one place longer than he planned, to _win_ , for this dance they stepped was a combative one, Riva would have to succeed in surprising him.  She took off down the corridor again, the ache and the fluttering around her peripheral vision an almost familiar pair of nuisances as they returned. 

 

She did wish he would get on with whatever else he was planning.  What _would_ he do if she stopped to rest?  The memory of the bed she had ‘awakened’ in was looking more and more appealing, if she could just close her eyes for a little while -

 

“Come to me, Riva.”  The steel-shod order seemed to sound out of nowhere, and her vision sharpened as she whipped her head around to look for him. 

 

“Where _are_ you?” she called, voice acidic. 

 

The deft hand that fisted harshly in her loose hair was even more startling, as suddenly he was simply _there_ , behind her, wrenching her head back to force her to look up at him.  His eyes were murky pools with the first-frost glint of cruelty, mocking her, challenging her, commanding her to attend.  She was given a long, heart-skipping moment to drink in the sight, and then his lips had fastened over hers in a savage, bruising kiss. 

 

She let herself revel in it a heartbeat too long, and he was away again, though the heady taste of him lingered on her tongue. 

 

…

 

Riva’s breath came shallow and labored, as if Lucien had stolen it when he left, this time.  It was even harder to start moving again, but she would catch him.  She had to catch him. 

 

The strange, grey veil was everywhere, now, it seemed – she would turn a corner only to see the hall ahead ending in its billowy light, and retreat to try another passage.  It no longer intrigued her, but was something to avoid… something Lucien had been leading her away from. 

 

A distressed cry escaped her the fourth time this happened, for it almost felt like the mysterious border was chasing her, cropping up faster and faster each time she eluded it.  A sharp call answered, finally, and she paused at the oddness of it – his voice was one that gave commands and enticements, not entreaties.  The call was underscored by a distant, thudding vibration, beyond hearing and only just felt through the bare soles of her feet, spurring her onward as her search for him took on an edge of desperation. 

 

 _There!_   A flutter of fabric that was not misty grey, but black, black as a raven’s wing at midnight… and she was rounding the corner and he turned to catch her, all _heat_ and rough leather and stubble against her face as she buried her fingers in dark, silken locks and kissed him like a drowning woman gasping for air. 

 

There was a pause that tasted of surprise, and he had drawn her tightly against him.  He was a brand, a dark beacon as the washed-out grey light closed in around them, solid and real…  it was so wrong and yet so _good_ that those cruel hands stayed gentle at her back, stroking along her spine, more terrifying still when one cupped her face and held her close instead of taking the familiar path into her hair to yank her back or keep her still. 

 

The thudding sound was louder, nearer, thundering in her ears as she drank him in, leaned into his body and wrapped a leg around his hips under the warm weight of his cloak – wanting to draw out this unaccustomed tenderness as long as it would last, wanting to show him, wanting him to know that she –

 

There was a wrenching sensation that grabbed at the knotted threads of her desire and _twisted_ , and she shuddered in disoriented ecstasy that collided with tearing pain, as the world went white. 

 

…

 

Gabriella cut off the flow of healing magic abruptly as her friend spasmed and gasped beneath her hands.  Riva’s eyes had flown open, blood-colored irises all but eclipsed by black pupils, and she had made a noise that, under any other circumstances, the mage would have taken for… well, most certainly _not_ a cry of pain from a woman wounded nigh unto death.   

 

The spectre’s insubstantial outline appeared next to them, and Gabriella spared an arch look for her deceased Brother as she wrapped the other elf in a thick blanket warmed by a whiff of flame.  “What did you _do_ , to keep her hanging on for this long?  I’d frankly expected to find a half-frozen corpse by this time, though I am glad it is not so.” 

 

The ghost quirked a half-smile that missed smugness by a degree and instead fell squarely into what Gabriella would swear was relief.  “What was necessary.”  


End file.
